


the blind and bitter fates placed the cup of love's sweet poison to unconsenting lips

by missveils (Missveils)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Elvhenan, Arlathan (Dragon Age), Arlathan AU, Courtly Love, Fruit, Indirect Kiss, M/M, Mutual Pining, Secret Relationship, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:07:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24496189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missveils/pseuds/missveils
Summary: An Arlathan AU as an excuse to write some secret courtly romance, because it's my favourite trope.
Relationships: Fen'Harel | Solas/Male Lavellan, Male Inquisitor/Solas (Dragon Age), Male Lavellan/Solas
Kudos: 26





	the blind and bitter fates placed the cup of love's sweet poison to unconsenting lips

The world is quiet in the early hours of the morning. The world is blue and still. 

Not completely quiet, it never is.

The birds, awake from the first lights on the horizon, are already singing. Faint music (soft chimes, clear harps) floats in the air of the garden. Whether it comes from a window or someone has enchanted it into being, Dáire does not know. 

The world is quiet in the early hours of the morning, and no one will come looking for him at this time. So he climbed out of his window, onto the lower parapets and into the garden. There, resting on the lower branches of the willow tree, he can read, write, or just watch the branches move with the breeze, pretending he is somewhere else. 

The stillness is broken by the sound of steps and the jingling of armor. He bolts upright but his shoulders drop again once he sees Solas step between the hanging branches. It’s been weeks since Mythal’s troops left for a short reconnaissance, and Dáire’s face probably lights up more than he intended when he sees him again.

“An offering for you to come down here?” he whispers, resting his back against the trunk of the tree and holding up a red fruit. 

Dáire muffles a laugh and climbs down from the branch, gracefully landing next to him and reaching for the fruit. 

“We passed near the village you and Ellara grew up in,” Solas explains. “She said you were probably missing these, as no one grows them around here.”

The ridged, bright-red skin, the sweet scent. Just as he remembered it. He could not even remember how long it had been since he had eaten one. Just holding it felt like home. 

“Did Ellara ask you to bring it to me? Is she okay?”

“She is. They are still on the way here, I rode ahead of them. And she just offered the information. I decided to bring it to you.”

Dáire dug one fingernail in the fruit and started to peel away the skin. Looking up, he saw Solas look intently at his hands as he spoke. He looked away immediately, concentrating on the task.

“Thank you… You shouldn’t have.”

“You deserve to have a small piece of home here.”

Dáire picked one of the light pink fruit segments and held it up to Solas. 

“Ellara and I used to eat them with sugar, but they are good on their own.”

Solas leans to eat the piece of fruit he is holding. Dáire’s hand freezes as his fingers brush against his lips. For a moment, his fingers linger there, as Solas bites into the fruit. It’s only when he opens his eyes and looks at him, when Dáire lowers his hand, embarrassed. 

There are no words spoken between them, as Solas picks another of the segments and holds it up to Dáire. His heart skips a beat as his fingers touch his lips. Still, he reaches for his hand to keep him there. For just a little longer. 

The sour and sweet taste of a home long gone. 

The trembling fingers at his lips.

The still night and the chirping of the birds on the branches. 

For just a little longer, he can imagine they are somewhere else. His memories of home are few and vague, but he can imagine a forest, and the distant glow of the village waking up. And for a moment he is standing there with Solas. No wars, no fire, just them. 

But he lowers his hand and it slips away from between his fingers. When Dáire opens his eyes, he has already turned to leave. 

“I should go. I have to report back to the palace. I came here before going anywhere else, but they will be waiting now. I should not have taken this much of your time.”

He wants to thank him again, ask him to stay, tell him to not speak to him as if he is somehow above him, he wants to say something stupid like “report back to me later” or “I will be waiting for you”.

The words die in Dáire’s throat as the hanging branches part to let him leave. He rests his back against the tree trunk, as the morning starts shifting from blue to pink.

One hand holds the fruit close to his chest. 

The other holds two trembling fingers to his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> *listens to heather dale on repeat*
> 
> Dáire Lavellan belongs to @littlegumshoe who also drew this based on this fic: 
> 
> Also who knows I might expand upon this AU and make it a full thing. So far I'm enjoying it immensely.


End file.
